


Oasis

by RomanMoray



Series: Between Two Wars [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Domesticity, First Kiss, M/M, Mutual Pining, Owen Lars is kind of a dick, Pining, Post-Order 66, Pre-Slash, Tatooine, all kinds of pining, author doesn't know how the force works, cody is protective, confessions (kind of), luke is wholesome, mostly just obi-wan menacing hutt-employed bandits, or geography, this work is part of a series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:28:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26051917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RomanMoray/pseuds/RomanMoray
Summary: The Great Drought and crime lord Jabba the Hutt's subsequent water tax causes problems for everyone on Tatooine, including eight-year-old Luke Skywalker's family.Ben Kenobi interferes.
Relationships: CC-2224 | Cody/Obi-Wan Kenobi
Series: Between Two Wars [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1864813
Comments: 89
Kudos: 417





	1. Unwelcome Visitors

**Author's Note:**

> HELLO! This fic is part of a series. If you haven't read part one (Home, A Place You've Never Been), I highly recommend reading that first. This will not make much sense. If you are here for part two, welcome! We are...about a year and a half from the end of the last fic, so Luke is eight, and Ben and Cody are...never mind, I don't want to do math.
> 
> I hope everyone enjoys! The response to the last fic made me so, so, so happy, I love all of you!

"Please—please, no! I need that water—I have a _family!_ " The old farmer stood between the vaporator tower and the three of Jabba the Hutt's bandits—two humans and a zabrak. The largest of them, a massive man with a face ravaged by scars, laughed menacingly.

"Well, that ain't really our concern, is it?"

"You can't do this!"

"You don't tell us what we can't do," the zabrak said with a scowl, cracking his knuckles. The old man's eyes widened in fear, but he stood his ground.

It was a brave choice, but not the wisest. The large man took a step forward and slammed the heel of his palm into the farmer's face before he could even raise his hands to protect himself; there was a sickening crack as his nose broke. The farmer stumbled back and fell to his knees, holding his nose.

While his two companions loaded the water from the vaporator onto their speeder bikes, the third man surveyed the southern horizon through the scope of his rifle. He stopped when a little rounded house came into view in the distance.

"Ey, Ko—ain't that another farm out there? Don't believe they've ever paid their water tax," he said, turning to the zabrak, who followed the other bandit's gaze.

"Right you are—about time we did somethin' about that, don't ya think?"

"I think we've got ourselves a plan."

\-----

Ben Kenobi watched through his macrobinoculars as the three figures sped south towards the Lars' moisture farm. He zoomed in, and sure enough there were large water vessels strapped to the sides of their speeder bikes. He grimaced and tucked the macrobinoculars away.

He had a bad feeling about this.

The Great Drought was a threat to life on Tatooine all on its own. With the hottest months of the year settling in and the planet's mists running dry, it wasn't just the moisture farmers that were struggling to make ends meet. Everyone needed water.

Everyone, including Jabba the Hutt. Ben didn't believe the rumors that Jabba was using the water to take lavish baths in his palace—he didn't believe that Jabba even knew what a bath was—but the hutt was unquestionably taking more than his fair share of the meager water supply dispensed by the vaporators of Tatooine's many moisture farms, and Ben had seen enough extortion in his time to know that the farmers were at their breaking point. Jabba's "water tax" had started out as the sporadic raiding of water shipments around the planet, and gradually escalated into hoards of bandits going door to door, forcing the already poor, already exhausted moisture farmers to give up nearly the all the water they managed to scrape together.

The Lars' homestead was remote enough that it had taken time for the new regime to reach them. But Ben had always known it was too convenient to last.

So, when the three bandits were about a klick away from the little moisture farm, Ben pulled up the hood on his robe and moved to intercept them. He stood serenely, arms folded, directly in the path of the speeders. They took the bait and skidded to a stop before him in a cloud of exhaust and sand, blasters at the ready.

"What the _kark_ do you want, old man?" Ah, lovely.

"Old man? There is only a little gray in my beard, thank you very much."

"Kark off."

"You don't need to collect Jabba's tax from this farm. You can be on your way."

" _Excuse_ me," said the yellow and black skinned zabrak, dismounting his speeder and striding up to Ben slowly. "But I really don't think this is any of your business. Old. Man."

Ben just stared placidly back, though inside he felt an unbidden twinge of vexation. _Seriously?_ He wasn't _that_ old. Ben hadn't even hit fifty yet. Were the bandits simply unable to think of a more applicable insult? Ben mentally shook himself. None of this was relevant.

He locked his eyes with the zabrak's bloodshot brown ones, then looked to his companions

"I said," he waved his hand, almost lazily. "You don't need to collect the water tax from this farm. You can be on your way." The zabrak's eyes went slightly vacant, and the bandits' weapons lowered slightly in their grips.

"We can...be on our way," he echoed.

"You won't remember this," Ben added as an afterthought. They usually didn't anyway, but it never hurt to be cautious.

Ben watched them coolly as they turned their speeder bikes and raced back north, in the direction of Jabba's palace. This wasn't over yet, he knew, but there wasn't much he could do now. He glanced back at the moisture farm behind him, then turned west. It was time to head home. Cody would be back from Mos Espa tomorrow, and Ben wanted to make cookies.

\-----

As Cody headed toward the outskirts of Mos Espa, he was waylaid by Madj's neighbors, a small family of kiffar—specifically the father, who was probably the most unrelentingly chatty person Cody had ever met, and he had met a lot of people. When the man called to him, Cody waved, then made to keep walking, but he was already hurrying over to Cody, smiling brightly. Cody stopped reluctantly—he'd been away from home for two days, and he was anxious to return. He didn't want to be rude, though—the man was nice enough.

"Heeyyy, Cody! What's up?" The kiffar greeted. Cody wondered if drawing out "hey" like that was an innate kiffar trait, though at admittedly the only other member of the species Cody had ever met was Quinlan Vos, who was an anomaly on all accounts.

"Hey, Varlan. Not much, just heading home."

"How's your husband? Haven't seen him around in a while." Cody fought back a blush.

"He's fine," Cody replied. He didn't bother to correct Varlan either—being married was a much easier explanation for his and Ben's unorthodox living situation than anything else would be. Cody didn't think saying they were roommates really covered it, but it was Cody's understanding that he was the only one reading any romance into the situation.

Then again, how long did you have to live with someone in the middle of nowhere, sleep together (literally, not figuratively), eat together, and work together before it qualified as being married? Not that Cody had much experience with such things, but they had a joint bank account, for kriff's sake—if a stash of credits in a chest in the basement counted as a bank account. It was close enough, Cody thought.

When Varlan was done relaying the neighborhood gossip (a lost tooka, so-and-so's daughter eloped with a mechanic and moved to Bestine, the usual) Cody extracted himself by explaining that he had a sandcrawler to catch.

"You ride on those things? Stars, that's brave of you." Cody didn't say that the Jawas' mobile fortress was on the low end of intimidating compared to some of the other things he'd traveled on. Instead, he bid the kiffar farewell and continued on his way.

\-----

As Cody approached home several hours later, realized with a jolt of fear he could hear an unfamiliar raised voice coming from inside the house, and there was a red landspeeder parked outside. It looked vaguely familiar, though Cody couldn't place it, and didn't care to at that moment.

In the blink of an eye, Cody was at the back door. He dropped his pack outside in case he needed to move quickly and popped out the blaster he'd hidden above the door frame. He couldn't hear Ben's voice. His pulse raced, but his hands were steady on his weapon as the heavy door slid open and he stepped though, blaster aimed levelly in the direction of the shouting.

"...stay _out_ of our lives, stay out of Luke's life, or _else—_ " the unfamiliar voice cut out suddenly when the man it belonged to realized he was about to be shot. He was younger than Ben, with dark hair and scruffy beard. His slightly pudgy cheeks were flushed with anger, but his eyes were wide with alarm. Ben was standing with his back to Cody when he entered—unharmed, he noted with a wave of relief—but spun on the spot when he heard the door open. He raised a hand quickly toward Cody.

"No, wait! Cody, it's alright." Cody hesitated.

"Are you okay?"

" _Yes,_ I'm fine. This is Owen Lars, I know him." Cody lowered the blaster slowly and put it down on the shelf by the door, eyes still locked on Owen, who was looking at him like an eopie in the headlights of a landspeeder. Ben was looking back and forth between them rapidly, as though unsure who he should be more concerned about. Cody felt a little reassuring nudge in his mind.

Ben cleared his throat. "Owen, this is my friend Cody." The silence was too tense to be truly awkward.

"I think you should probably leave," Cody said, and he was impressed with how calm his voice sounded, all things considered.

"I'm leaving," Owen replied, then looked at Ben. "Remember what I said. We don't need your help. You've done enough damage to our family." Ben's expression went from neutral to dejected as Cody watched. His ears rang with the effort of staying still.

" _Usen'ye!_ " He barked, but the man was already leaving. How _dare_ —no one should be able to talk to _his_ _jetii_ like that and get away with it. Why hadn't Ben defended himself against that _shabuir?_

Cody remained still as a statue, seething, until Ben approached him and placed a hand on his arm. It looked starkly pale and soft juxtaposed with the brown of Cody's arm and muscles.

"Your thoughts are...nearly deafening, my dear."

"Why'd you let him say all that?" Cody wasn't angry at Ben, not really, but his mind was racing and he was having a very hard time wrestling his emotions into the dark corner of his mind that they usually lived in.

"It is...an unfortunate consequence of past events that Owen is not fond of me, but it is imperative that we at least tolerate each other. And if that means I get some mild verbal abuse from time to time, then so be it. It is of no importance. He can't hurt me."

"Of no importance!" Cody repeated indignantly. "It's important to me, damn it! He can't talk to you like that." But he could anger start to filter out as the initial shock dissipated. This was part of Ben's "extended assignment" somehow. Cody needed to get a grip. He just...wasn't used to seeing people go after Ben like that anymore. There had been a time, he recalled, when people—armies, even—had been actively trying to kill his former general _every day._ It was almost strange to think of now, after over a year where their only perilous encounters (that Cody was aware of, anyway) were with either sandstorms or the occasional rabid wild animal.

Ben gave him a small but genuine smile and ducked his head shyly in that way that made his hair slide forward in a sheet of coppery waves. Cody's train of thought departed abruptly. He really wanted to run his hand through it.

"Do you do that on purpose when I'm mad about something, so I won't be annoyed at you anymore?" Ben looked back up at him, sweet blue eyes wide and innocent.

"What do you mean by that?" Cody smiled and shook his head.

"Never mind."

"Dinner?"

"Sure—thanks."


	2. The Pep Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben sort of halfway listens to Qui-Gon; Cody worries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all I have written so much in the past week. Not sure if it's "good" per se but I am on a roll just...pure productivity wise. Writing has been such an excellent escape from my life (which is kind of a clusterfuck right now, and not just for obvious pandemic reasons). So as a consequence this story is mostly written already, except for the last chapter. I just need to read through and fix my mysterious spelling over the next couple days lol
> 
> Anyway, hope y'all enjoy chapter two!

Ben rose early as usual the next morning, with Cody’s arm draped loosely around his waist. They always started the night on separate sides of the bed, but invariably one of them ended up wrapped around the other, no matter how oppressive the heat was.

He slid with well-practiced ease out from under Cody and perched on the edge of the bed. He looked fondly down at the other man as he stretched out a kink in his neck, thinking about the day before. Despite the added strain of near-murder on Ben’s already fraught relationship with Owen Lars, there had been something immensely cathartic about Cody’s enthusiastic defense of him. Obviously, his friend’s loyalty was never in question—but his unwavering readiness to kill for Ben at the drop of a hat, so long after their respective former military ranks required it of him, was oddly endearing. Ben's positive response probably meant that there was something deeply wrong with him—it was certainly a very not a very Jedi-like impulse to have.

Jedi-like or not, the fact remained that when Cody had burst into the room, blaster raised, eyes steely as he stared down the intruder...well, Ben wasn’t immune to the man’s battle-hardened competence, which was even more attractive when wielded on his behalf.

Ben studied Cody’s face, peaceful in sleep. His dark curls were just a little longer than usual—Cody had mentioned that he might look in to cutting it. Ben had offered to help, but frankly he wasn’t very confident in his abilities in that arena. The look suited him, anyway. Ben's eyes wandered down, tracing that fascinating scar from where it began on his forehead to its jagged end on his cheek, looking at (admiring) the man's strong jaw. During the war, Ben had noticed that Cody had a tendency to clench his jaw during tense situations, but that habit had been replaced over the past year by less disquieting things like fiddling with the ancient arrowhead that he wore around his neck or tapping his foot along to the radio. It was all terribly cute, and if Ben hadn't been so worried about potentially damaging their friendship, which had undoubtedly become a central aspect of Ben's life...

Force, he needed to meditate.

\-----

"You should just steal the child. That's what I'd do."

Ben was allowed a mere hour and a half of turbulent meditation before Qui-Gon Jinn made himself known by plopping his hazy body down beside him on the rocky cliff and making a snarky comment about Ben's posture (which was _fine_ ).

"I don't want to take him from his family. They care for him greatly, they're just...a bit misguided."

"I know you know what it's like to be alone, untrained, as a Force-sensitive child." Ben winced. He did know. He'd been taken to the Jedi Temple a bit later than was standard for younglings, for reasons that had never been adequately explained to him. As a Padawan, he'd often worried that his abilities were fundamentally inferior to those of his peers for that very reason—that somehow he hadn't been identified because he wasn't strong enough. But before he was taken, he did remember feeling the isolation that came from being _different,_ in a way that he had no words for and that tended to make people around him feel uncomfortable. It hadn't occurred to him that he may be inflicting on Luke the very thing he'd suffered through, only worse, because Luke was now several years older than Ben had been when the Jedi had finally come for him.

"I am worried as well, but I can't force the issue—I can't risk alienating Luke, or his family. There's too much at stake."

"There is also too much at stake for young Luke to fail due to a lack of training."

"But should it really be _my_ teaching that he receives?" Ben snapped, and the bitterness in his voice surprised him slightly. "It was _my_ teaching that led to Anakin's fall. My own training was barely even complete when you—" He stopped abruptly, unable to finish the thought. He looked down at his crossed legs, not wanting to see his former Master's face.

"It matters not whether you are the right person to train him. You will train him, because there is no one else who can." Ben nodded minutely.

"I don't want to fail. Not again," he breathed, hating how fragile he sounded.

"No one ever does." Ben chanced a glance up at Qui-Gon, who was looking at him. His expression was solemn, but his twinkling eyes betrayed his unwavering good humor. "But that does not mean we should not try. You have all of the knowledge you need to train the boy. I know you well enough to know you've kept up with your studies."

"Well, of course, it's not exactly the _material_ that's the—"

"Obi-Wan." Ben startled at the use of his name. "You have _everything_ you need."

"Thank you, Master."

"So, how about that handsome man living in your house?"

Ben groaned.

\-----

Cody knew something was up, and he didn't think it was entirely related to the obvious crisis of the drought that had settled over Tatooine. He wished, not for the first time, that he knew more about what Ben was doing here in the first place—Ben very rarely brought up his assignment, but Cody knew it weighed on his mind.

Ben spent an absurd amount of time meditating. He often invited Cody to join him, which in and of itself was not unusual; his _jetii_ had explained, somewhat vaguely, that having another life force around to center himself on—or something—was helpful, which didn't entirely track with the rest of the information Cody had gleaned about the Force over the years, but he was happy to help even if he wasn't sure _how_ exactly he was helping. All he did was sit in the shade of a boulder behind Ben and read his books.

But what was unusual was how anxious Ben seemed after the fact. Cody was used to Ben emerging from his strange mental oasis appearing refreshed, more confident—as though he'd gotten several good nights of sleep compressed into a couple hours of sitting quietly. Recently, when he would finally open his eyes, he looked even more concerned than he had been before.

A couple times, he'd seemed to jump out of his meditation abruptly, as though waking up from a nightmare. Cody wasn't what that meant, but he doubted it was good. On those occasions, he'd glance over at Cody, as though to reassure himself of something, then settle back in.

When Cody finally caved and asked what was up, he received an incredibly cryptic and unsatisfying answer.

"Sometimes," he'd said, eyes far away, "the Force poses more questions than it answers."

"I could say the same about you," he'd quipped, earning him a genuine laugh—a treasured rarity, as of late. But he did not fail to notice that Ben changed the topic quickly afterwards.


	3. Luke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luke goes rogue; Ben embarks on a rescue mission.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just realized. I'm pretty sure every single thing I've ever written has a head injury at some point in the narrative. I wonder what that says about me? Not sure I want to know. I swear on my life I don't have a concussion kink. I didn't plan this. Next time I need someone to be disoriented, I'll go for alcohol or drugs.

Luke's first eight years of life were about as carefree as they could be on a planet like Tatooine. He loved and was loved by Aunt Beru and Uncle Owen. He had friends that he played with when his chores were done. He enjoyed trips into the port towns, and the vibrant lives of the people who lived in and passed through them, and the little sugar treats that his aunt would buy for him if he was good and didn't run off by himself, as he was prone to do.

He didn't think of his family as poor. They had always had what they needed, and Luke knew no other life. So, when the drought that was supposed to last only days stretched on for months, he was alarmed by the increasingly anxious looks exchanged by his aunt and uncle over the dinner table as the meals became smaller and his uncle began carefully tracking their water consumption to make their supply last as long as possible. For the first time in his life, Luke realized that at any given point, his family was a few consecutive rough weeks away from losing all they had. They tried to put on brave faces for Luke, but he knew as surely as he knew his own name that they were hiding things from him. He understood. Kids weren't supposed to think about things like ecological failure or social unrest or crime lords demanding things from people who had nothing to give. But Luke still knew.

Luke, being who he was, was not especially concerned for his own safety—after all, the hutt's people seemed oddly reluctant to venture south to Luke’s home. Like most eight-year-olds, the concept of his own mortality was foreign—something he had in common with his father, though he did not know it at the time. Luke’s naive courage stemmed as much from a disbelief that anything could hurt him as it did from any internal sense of justice. So, when he realized that his friends in the nearby town of Anchorhead were suffering as a result of Jabba’s water tax, there was no question in Luke’s mind as to whether or not he should do something about it.

Luke had an uncanny talent for sensing opportunities; this ability was throttled only by his complete lack of patience. After dinner one night, Luke was struck by the sudden notion that if he walked out of his house right now, neither Aunt Beru nor Uncle Owen would notice for quite a while. So that was exactly what he did—he crept furtively out of his room, through the little sandy central courtyard, then climbed quickly up the stairs and out the front door.

Once he was outside, it seemed as though he should head east into town. Luke marched purposefully towards Anchorhead.

\-----

Luke followed his instincts to the outskirts of town, where Jabba's bandits had made camp amongst a forest of boulders. He hid behind one to survey the scene. There was a campfire burning a few meters away. Several of the bandits were huddled around it, drinking and cackling, harsh-voiced and unpleasant.

Their speeders were parked off to one side, laden with containers of precious water. Luke's resolve hardened. If he could get away with even one of those containers, its contents could keep a household hydrated for a week, or several households for a couple days, if rationed well.

He darted from one hiding spot to another, sticking to the harsh shadows provided by the orange light of the fire. He was two boulder-lengths away, then one boulder-length, and then he was at the closest speeder, struggling with the fasteners attaching the water container to it. If he could just get it off, he'd be able to drag it away...

Luke was so absorbed in his task that he didn't notice the silence fall around the campfire, nor did he notice the six large figures encircling him until it was much too late.

"Well, well—what do we have here?" The nearest figure, a tall weequay, sneered, his beady eyes staring down the child before him. Luke spun around, then froze, still as a statue. The weequay smiled unkindly. Luke frowned, then spoke with the kind of confidence that only a self-righteous eight-year-old can possess.

"You can't take all this water. It's not _fair_." The bandits laughed, and a chill went down Luke's spine.

"I think Jabba would appreciate having such a fine specimen of human child at his disposal, don't we agree?" The weequay continued as is cohort leered. "Or, if not, he'll fetch a good price from someone who does want him."

Luke stood and launched himself into a sprint, aiming for the gap between two of the bandits, but someone grabbed him from behind. He screamed. Something was put over his head and his hands were bound behind him. Before he knew it, he was being loaded like a sack of dried beans on to the back of a speeder and carried off into the night.

\-----

Late in the night, Ben Kenobi jolted awake in a panic. Luke's fear, bright and jagged, was like a knife through the Force. He reached out, assessing—Luke had been taken, and was currently being moved. Not on a ship, fortunately. They were heading northwest. It was far, but Ben could move quickly when he needed to.

" _Cya_ —Ben, _me'bana_? what's wrong?" Cody was awake and alert within a couple seconds after Ben had scrambled to his feet, pulling on another tunic and his discarded belt. He opened his storage trunk and pulled out a pair of comlinks. He stared longingly at the bundle of lightsaber parts in the bottom of the trunk, but left them where they were.

One comlink was tossed to Cody, along with a tracking fob. "I have to go. Watch the comlink, and if I'm not back by morning, go to those coordinates."

"I can't come with you?"

Ben hesitated. Cody was looking at him neutrally, but Ben could feel the prickle of frustration the other man was trying to conceal from him. Ben knew is was quickly becoming unfair of him to keep his friend in the dark about the situation with Luke, but now wasn't the time to negotiate that. So, he walked back to the bed where Cody sat and, trying not to think too hard about what he was doing, leaned down to kiss the top of his head lightly. His thick, dark hair felt nice against his lips.

"I'm sorry. I... I need you to stay _safe,_ my dear."

Ben was out the front door in less than a second, under the distinct impression that he was going to have a lot to answer for upon his return home.

\-----

Luke had no idea how long he'd been bound uncomfortably to the back of a speeder. The metal of the bike dug uncomfortably into his belly, and sand kept getting kicked up into the sack over his head. It was definitely not the best time he'd ever had, and he internally declared that he would avoid going on any more adventures for at least the next two to three months, assuming he escaped this one intact.

After several nauseating hours (or, what Luke estimated was several hours), the speeder slowed to a stop. It bounced as its rider dismounted and began to speak with the other bandits. He caught a few words in Huttese—he was learning the language, though somewhat slowly, since he didn't have much time to practice it. Mostly he understood the insults. _Sleemo. Wermo. E chu ta. Kung._

Luke wriggled, testing his restraints. He wasn't strong enough to break them, but if he could just push himself forward...

"Where do you think you're going, _peedunkee?_ " _Boy,_ Luke's brain supplied helpfully.

 _Thwack._ An explosion of pain blossomed from where something blunt collided forcefully with the side of his skull. A cry escaped him, and his eyes watered. Something warm and wet trickled down the side of his face. Luke suddenly felt lightheaded.

" _I said,_ where do you think—" The bandit was cut off by a very different voice, a soft and soothing one. Luke had never heard an accent like that in person before, but it called to mind the glittering cityscapes of the core worlds from holoprograms.

"I'd let the boy go, if I were you, gentlemen. This does not have to be difficult."

"Who the kark..."

The bright speeder lights that filtered in through the weave of the bag went dark. Through his dizziness, Luke registered a series of loud impacts, yelling, and errant blaster shots embedding themselves in sand. Then, suddenly, silence. Luke could hear his own ragged breaths, amplified by his head covering.

Then, there were hands working on the bindings around him. He felt them come loose, and he sat up quickly—too quickly. He doubled over again. If there had been food on his stomach, he would have vomited, but there wasn't.

"Easy, Luke. Don't try to stand." The bag came off his head, but Luke still couldn't see who had saved him. It was so dark. There was something familiar about the man's voice, though, now that his thinking was less clouded by fear.

"Who're you?" He slurred. Speaking made his head throb violently.

"I'm... a friend. Don't worry, I'm going to take you home. You can rest, Luke." Rest sounded nice. Luke could close his eyes for a minute, maybe...

\-----

When Luke Skywalker woke up the next morning, he was at home, in his bed. He reached for his head injury, but found nothing there—in fact, he felt better than he had before he'd been hit.

Luke wasn't certain what had happened to him, but he was sure about one thing—he wanted to know the man that had saved him.


	4. Mhi Me'dinui Ahn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cody just wants to be included; Ben sends a message to the local crime lord.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh. My. God. I'm not going to get into it here, but I am having such a nightmare week. I keep thinking that it must be Friday by now but alas it is Wednesday morning. I just. People are so difficult. And it's my first week of classes, on top of everything else—which, for once, school is the least stressful part of my life, lol.
> 
> Full disclosure, I'm not sure if the Force thing I wrote in here is a real thing or even possible in universe? I guess it's battle meditation adjacent, but not really. Anyway, I'm going to pretend it works!

Cody was sitting on the roof, watching the horizon for Ben through their co-owned macrobinoculars, as the first hints of dawn breached the sky. He sighed. Just then, the comlink beside him crackled to life.

_"Come in, Cody. I'm still several klicks out, but I'm nearly home. I brought you something."_

"Roger that, _sir_ ," he replied, putting as much ire in that single syllable as he could muster. It was a low blow, but he couldn't help it. Cody's mind had been reeling ever since Ben had left late the night before. He had a lot of problems with the manner of his departure—though, admittedly, he'd be a lot angrier if his _jetii_ hadn't caught him completely off guard with the brief kiss he'd bestowed on him. Cody had sat there for a full ten minutes before realizing that he was annoyed that Ben had left without him, and the spot had tingled for hours after that, like a static shock.

He probably did that on purpose. Bastard.

Cody jumped down from the roof and retreated into the house to make them both tea. He was pissed, but he wasn't a monster.

He didn't have to wait long. Cody heard the sound of a speeder bike approaching, and sure enough, Ben entered a moment later. He looked exhausted—there were deep shadows under his eyes, and his hair was just a little too disheveled to be considered artfully windswept. Cody mutely handed him his tea and sat down at the little dining table.

"Thanks. Sorry you had to wait up."

"Yeah, not really what I was worried about."

"I'm sorry about that, too." _For not letting me help? For kissing me?_

"Don't you trust me?" Another low blow. Cody was full of them that morning. Ben looked wounded.

"Of course I do, my dear. More than anyone. It isn't a question of trust..."

"Well, then, what is it? _Cyare,_ we've lived together for nearly two years. You know everything there is to know about me, and I like to think that I know you pretty well too. If you're worried about me getting hurt, then...then _don't_ —there is nowhere else I'd rather be than by your side, no matter what the circumstances are. I'd rather get killed helping you with some _di'kut_ mess you've gotten yourself into a million times over than...than not know what's going on with you. I thought...maybe you knew that," Cody ended lamely, out of steam. He looked past Ben's wide blue-gray eyes as they blinked in surprise to the sand colored wall behind him, feeling as though he'd revealed too much—though, he couldn't imagine how his seemingly omnipotent _jetii_ could not know how he felt.

As it was, Cody couldn't help but notice that what he was saying was the essence of Mandalorian marriage vows—or part of them, anyway. _Mhi me'dinui an;_ we will share all.

"Look," he continued finally, unable to stand the silence. "Just...please don't run off like that again."

"You didn't used to mind so much," Ben replied quietly. Cody resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

"Believe me, I always minded. But what was I supposed to say? You were my general. But now I don't have to worry about you sending me to be decommissioned, so I don't have to put up with your dramatic banthashit."

"My 'dramatic banthashit'? I see how it is—I'll have you know that my dramatic banthashit saved our lives more times than I can count." Cody chanced a glance at Ben and found him smirking back at him. Clearly his words had no effect.

"You look way too happy for someone who just got called out."

"What can I say? I've always appreciated a man who knows what he wants." Cody felt his face flush instantly.

"You...you're impossible."

Ben's grin widened, but then he seemed to sober up slightly. "I am sorry, Cody. It won't happen again, I promise." He shifted forward slightly in his chair, stopped, then leaned completely across the table and knocked his forehead gently against Cody's, because apparently that was just a thing that happened now.

Not that Cody was complaining.

\-----

The very next day, Ben invited Cody to join him on another nighttime excursion, and Cody happily agreed. So, after lunch, he climbed behind Ben on the rusty, squeaky speeder that Ben had acquired (stolen) for them.

“I dealt with one group of Jabba the Hutt’s lovely tax collectors the other night, but there are at least two other units menacing the Mos Eisley and Anchorhead area. I don't want to kill them, just deter them, to avoid a repeat of last night’s incident. Hopefully, the drought will clear up before things can escalate again,” Ben explained over the rattly hum of the speeder bike’s engine. Cody listened, trying to focus on the man’s words rather than the body in front of him, dangerously close to sitting between Cody’s legs. He swallowed.

Cody knew it was easier for Ben to read people with the Force when he had eye contact, so Cody was eternally grateful that the man had his back to him. Although, Ben seemed to pick up on his feelings no matter where he was.

Most of his feelings, anyway.

They rode east for several hours. By the time Ben slowed to find a spot to stash the speeder, it was dark except for the lights of Mos Eisley and the soft silvery glow of Ghomrassen and Chenini, both hung high in the sky. Cody wished he still had his bucket, with its handy night vision mode.

He followed Ben's shadowy form to the fringes of the town to the camp of a troop of bandits.

 _I-draw-out-you-cut-off,_ Ben signed at him. Cody could barely see the hand signals, but it was an easy set of them.

 _Low-visibility,_ Cody signed back, figuring there was no point in hiding it. Ben stroked his beard thoughtfully.

_Force-permission?_

He nodded, though he wasn't really sure what he was agreeing to. The _jetii_ closed his eyes, concentrating.

A truly bizarre sensation washed over Cody. His vision didn't get better, per se—it was still dark as kriff. But he could just sense what was happening around him—more, in fact, than he might have been able to glean if he'd been in normal light. He could tell that one bandit had a hurt leg, even though he'd never seen her walk. He knew there was someone hidden from view in the tent opposite the camp from them. He could smell the spirits they were drinking around the nearly dead fire from much too far away.

Something prodded him in the ribs and he jumped. Ben was looking at him inquisitively. Cody shook himself. Having all of this information at his disposal at once was highly disorienting. Was this what it felt like to use the Force? How did the Jedi manage it?

 _Good?_ Ben signed. _Not-long._

Cody took a deep breath, trying to focus on just the important stuff. _Ready._

Jabba's scrappy forces didn't stand a chance. Either one of them could have handled all six on their own, and if Cody was honest with himself, he'd missed the adrenaline of combat.

If the elegant ferocity of his _jetii_ was any indication, he wasn't the only one. The bandits didn't even have time to be concerned about the onslaught before they were all unconscious in the sand. Cody rifled through their things, crushing their comlinks under his boot against a rock.

"I was going to leave one awake to send a message back to Jabba's palace," Ben said sheepishly. "But I forgot. We'll have to do that at the next one."

"Just like old times."

"Just like old times," Ben echoed. "Except, when we go home, I won't have to fill out a single page of paperwork." Cody laughed.

The other camp had a larger fire going, and visibility was much better. Once his own allotted adversaries were defeated, Cody allowed himself to (admire) _watch_ Ben—it was strange to see him fight without his lightsaber. It had been known to happen, especially given the fact that Cody had ended up with his general's lightsaber more often than not, but he never got tired of seeing it. Ben was as talented with unarmed combat as he was with his saber, especially when supplemented with his Force-assisted acrobatics—though he seemed to be holding back on those tonight, for obvious reasons.

As he watched his _jetii_ flip one of the bandits over his shoulder and kick another in the jaw with ease in the flickering orange light of the campfire, Cody was reminded of the many similar occasions during the war that had cemented his attraction to the other man. He fought like he was dancing, movements smooth and perfectly timed. It was so unlike the way Cody had been trained—clones were taught to fight quick, brutal, efficient. It was effective, but not nearly as much of a spectacle as Jedi hand-to-hand.

"Enjoying the show?" Ben smirked, as though reading his mind. He brushed imaginary dust off his shoulder and sauntered towards Cody.

"Something like that," Cody flirted back, inwardly patting himself on the back for not getting flustered. Behind Ben, someone groaned.

"Looks like we found our messenger."

Ben turned and kneeled by the semi-conscious man—a human, with a cybernetic eye that was sparking slightly. That couldn't be good for him.

"Whenever you feel up to it," Ben started. Cody snorted. "Go back to your master and inform him that his water tax collectors are no longer welcome. Here, or anywhere else. Do I make myself clear?"

"Hgnh," said the bandit. Ben thumped him on the shoulder.

"Good man."


	5. Asking Questions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luke hears something interesting on the radio.

Luke was very, very grounded. Perhaps more grounded than he'd ever been in his life, and that included the time when he and his friend Deak had brought a crate of little lizards they'd caught in the valley into the house and then accidentally knocked over aforementioned crate. Luke still found lizards under his bed every once in a while. He would neither confirm nor deny that he fed them table scraps.

His ears weren't grounded, though. Luke spent his time listening to the radio while doing his chores. He was only allowed to the indoor ones until further notice—Luke suspected he'd turn nine before he was allowed out the front door again—so he was sweeping the floor when the local news report came on. What he heard made him stop sweeping completely and lie down on the floor next to the radio, listening intently.

_Residents of Mos Eisley were shocked early yesterday morning by the sudden reappearance of nearly two hundred gallons of stolen water. The water, which had been collected by force from the local moisture farmers in the days prior, was uncontaminated and has been redistributed to the citizens. Here's Reg Oberloder, a farmer and resident of the east district, here to share his experience of this bizarre event..._

A gravelly voice filtered through the static, a stark contrast to the crisp tones of the news reporter.

 _I was jus' goin' out to my vaporator to collect the last evenin's mists, like always, and I was lookin' towards the town, ya see, and there was this 'uge stack o' tubs, jus' a tower of 'em, and I thinks to myself, ain't that them jugs those_ [bleep] _Hutt-hired people been usin' to take our water since this_ [bleep] _water shortage? An' it was! Couldn' believe it. I got no idea who'da been able to haul all that without nobody noticin'. And gettin' it back from them_ [bleep] _bandits, too! I reckon we owe somefolk a mighty big debt, tha's all I'm sayin,' why jus' the other day..._

The farmer rambled on for another minute, punctuated occasionally by the radio's language censoring algorithm. Luke wasn't listening anymore, though.

He'd thought of little over the past two days other than the mysterious vigilante (that was what Luke had decided he was) who'd liberated him from Jabba's bandits. Could this water miracle in Mos Eisley be the work of the same person? Luke thought so.

The remaining hours until dinner passed in a blur of speculation and wondering. Luke's mind was drawn to the idea of his savior like a moth to a flame. He needed to know. This person was connected to him somehow, he was certain—the same kind of certain that he was about when the next sandstorm would hit, or what someone would roll with a pair of chance dice. Luke was just certain about things sometimes, and he was almost always right.

Luke sat across from his aunt and uncle over their meal of ahrisa and womprat soup. It was one of the only times he saw both of them in the same place at the same time—they were both so busy. The life of a moisture farmer was taxing and tedious. Luke hoped he wouldn't be stuck in it when he was older.

"Uncle Owen?" His uncle looked up from his soup.

"You know how I...you know how someone brought me back home when I snuck out?"

Uncle Owen's face fell into an expression of distaste. Luke swallowed, but plowed ahead. "Do you know who it was? I wanted to say thanks."

"No one saved you. You hit your head, but you walked home. You were just very, very lucky." Luke's brow furrowed. He looked to Aunt Beru, but she was watching his uncle, biting her lower lip slightly. Luke knew she did that when she was worried about something.

Uncle Owen was lying, but he had no idea why. Sure, he'd been a bit confused, but not enough to start hallucinating vigilantes.

"Oh," was all Luke said in response. He poked a chunk of womprat with his spoon. It was briefly submerged in creamy broth, then bounced back to the surface again. Dinner continued in uncomfortable silence.

Later that night, Luke was awoken from a doze by the sound of tense, hushed voices from his aunt and uncle's room. He slid silently out of bed and slipped under the curtain door so that it wouldn't move. He stood just outside the door to their bedroom, his back flat against the wall, and listened.

"You can't hide the truth from him forever. I understood, at first, wanting to keep him away from all that until he was older—but, you _know_ he'd be happier—"

"He'll get himself killed, involved with those people. Don't believe the stories, Beru. They aren't the heroes they're cracked up to be."

"But Ben is a _good man_ , you have to know that. He brought us Luke, and gave up his safety to keep him safe. He's done _nothing_ but help us."

"He's done nothing but _meddle,_ you mean."

"That's not fair, Owen—he's lost everything. He cares, your brother was like a brother to him." Luke stifled a gasp with his palm. His savior had known his father?

"I won't let our nephew turn out like...like that madman."

"He's _gifted,_ he was born that way. The least we could do is make sure he has the tools to avoid his father's fate."

"It was _Kenobi's_ training that made him that way."

"You know that's not true."

The wind picked up outside, and Luke couldn't hear any more after that. He'd learned several significant things, though. He knew that the man knew his father, and he had a name to go with the fancy accent he'd heard that night.

Ben Kenobi.

\-----

Less than a week later, the Great Drought relaxed its grip on Tatooine. The mists that the moisture farmers harvested returned in full one evening, as though absolutely nothing had interrupted them.

Ben was immeasurably relieved. Any more altercations with bandits may have threatened his anonymity. As it was, a Jedi's intervention didn't seem to be on anyone's radar. He carefully listened to the radio over the next few days, but while the townsfolk were a little perplexed, they didn't seem eager to look a gift bantha in the mouth, and there hadn't been a peep from Jabba's palace.

It felt as though a tremendous weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Things weren't perfect, but it was much easier to look after Luke from a distance when there wasn't anyone actively out to get him. He'd gathered some important knowledge from recent events, though—for one thing, young Luke was clearly already a Jedi at heart. It took a special kind of child to take the first opportunity they could to help people, with no regard for their own safety.

Yes, Luke was Anakin's son—but he was also Padmé's as well, through and through. And that wasn't something that Ben could teach.

It was also worth noting that the boy had sensed where the bandits could be found, with no training whatsoever. Luke's innate ability paralleled that of his father as well, it would seem.

Ben had a feeling, now, that all he had to do was wait for Luke to make his own choice. He could feel his inquisitive mind rummaging around in the Force, indelicate and noisy, but also eager and receptive. When the time came—and it would come soon—Luke would be an excellent student.


	6. And So It Begins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cody gets in a fight with an inanimate object and loses; Ben does first aid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was going to be two different chapters and then I agonized over where to put the chapter break for half an hour when I was supposed to be doing something else so now it's just one chapter.

Cody tinkered with the appropriated speeder bike over the next few weeks. The previous owner had not taken very good care of the thing. With Ben's assistance, he traded with the Jawas until he had enough replacement parts to fix it up properly. Since his arrival on Tatooine, he'd become a decent mechanic—he may have known a hundred ways to rig a speeder bike explode during his military service, but it was quite another endeavor to delicately adjust one so that it the breaks didn't squeal suspiciously and remove years of rust from its sensor array. That had always been a job for someone else in the GAR.

He was just rewiring the new altitude controls to the repulsorlift engine when the power cell shorted, sending a blue-white zap of electricity into his fingers. He pulled his hand back from the undercarriage of the speeder so fast that he whacked the back of his hand on another component, leaving a red gash along the back of his hand.

 _"Haar'chak,"_ he muttered, using an oily rag to wipe away the worst of blood. He should sand that component down. And also wear gloves.

"Alright out there, my dear?" Ben appeared in the doorway. Cody was going to say he was fine, but Ben was already walking over with a clean, damp towel in his hand and a bacta patch, having undoubtedly sensed his injury from inside the house. Oh, the many peculiarities of living with an overly empathetic Jedi.

Ben sat down in front of Cody next to the speeder, his light brown tunics fanning out slightly and blending in with the sand. He shot a reproachful look at the dirty rag Cody was holding in his uninjured hand, then gently guided the injured one into his lap.

"We recently beat up over fifteen bandits in the dead of night with no incidents, and you get hurt by a speeder that isn't even running."

"Hey, wasn't my fault—it was a surprise attack." Ben laughed breathily, the lines at the corners of his eyes crinkling.

Cody focused on keeping his hand as still as he could as Ben cleaned the wound methodically. The pressure stung but the coolness of the damp cloth felt nice after being in the sun for a few hours. When he was done, Ben aligned the patch with the cut and sealed the adhesive to the skin around it, smoothing out the wrinkles carefully.

Cody started to feel a little dizzy. Since when did he have a problem with blood? Oh, wait—he was holding his breath. He released it gradually, trying to pass it off as a sigh. Ben looked up at him, and there must have been something reassuring in his expression, because when he moved to withdraw his hands, Cody caught him and held him in place.

_Now what?_

He'd kissed people before, though never sober. Every so often on shore leave, his batchmates dragged him to real clubs on Coruscant where nat-borns hung out, and two or three times either Fox or Wolffe had brought along "friends" to introduce to him (always blue-eyed, always ginger), and a couple rounds of drinks into the night they seemed like acceptable stand-ins. Afterwards, he'd always felt intensely guilty, though he didn't really have a reason to. He'd only ever kissed them, after all, and as Rex had pointed out, there was no reason to feel obligated to "save himself" for someone who could never return his feelings, if that was what he had been doing. Nor was it anyone's business who he was pretending those lips belonged to. But Cody couldn't make himself feel any differently about it.

He loved one person, one _dini'la jetii,_ and no amount of denial or transference would alter that fact. So, it was safe to say there was a lot riding on that moment, for Cody. They had gotten some sort of convoluted second chance on this kriffed-up backwater desert world, and Ben had kissed him on the head that one night, and had given him a half dozen Keldabe kisses since then, and had just tenderly bandaged some _di'kutla_ cut on his hand, and Cody...

Cody needed to be sure.

"Would it...would it maybe be alright if I kissed you? You can say no, obviously, I just thought maybe—"

He stopped himself when he saw the grin spread across Ben's face, brighter than both of the suns, then he was leaning in to Cody, and all he had to do was meet Ben halfway.

Ben's short beard was scratchy but his lips were almost unbearably soft. Their movements were slow and unpracticed at first, but Ben and Cody had always worked well together, and this was no different. Cody felt a hand settle on his shoulder and he used that as an invitation to pull the other man into his lap, because they weren't close enough yet...

Too soon, Ben pulled away, and Cody inhaled deeply the scent of tea that he loved so much. He still couldn't entirely believe this was happening—he kept expecting to wake up to some other reality, far away, because this couldn't possibly be his life.

"I hoped you'd ask," Ben said, quietly. Cody reached up and wove his fingers though the soft waves of his hair.

" _You_ could have asked."

"I wasn't sure if you wanted to," he replied, as though that wasn't the dumbest thing Cody had ever heard.

"Want to go inside?"

"That might be wise—as a great Jedi once said, the sand really is coarse, and it really does get everywhere." Cody chuckled.

"Well, you know. A stopped chronometer is right twice a day." Ben laughed outright, burying his face into the crook of Cody's neck, his body shaking slightly in Cody's arms.

\-----

It was quite a while before they got around to making dinner. Cody was not blameless in that regard, but who could blame him once he'd finally realized that he could kiss Ben whenever he felt like it. And he felt like it a lot of the time.

After they'd finally eaten, Cody was reading a book over Ben's shoulder as the latter sat curled in his lap like a loth-cat when there was a light, hesitant knock on the front door. The both looked at the door, then at each other.

"I'll get it," Cody said, and Ben hopped off of him and went over to the window. They'd knocked, so whoever it was probably didn't mean them harm, but who could it be at this hour?

Cody grabbed his blaster and held it behind him as he hit the door control and it slid open to reveal the blond boy that Cody had met long after he'd arrived on Tatooine. The same one he'd saved, along with his aunt, from Tusken Raiders far east of here. He had a backpack slung over his shoulder and he looked grubby.

Suddenly, a great many things started to make sense. Cody cleared his throat.

"Uh. Hi. Luke, right?"

"I thought your name was Cody?" There was a slight reproach in the kid's voice.

"My name _is_ Cody."

"Oh. Does Ben Kenobi live here too, then?"

"He...does," Cody replied cautiously, his mind racing. "You'd better come inside, kid."

\-----

As soon as Luke's home imprisonment had ended, he'd announced that he was spending the weekend with his friend in Anchorhead and left. This was something he did often, so no alarms were raised, although he was still careful to leave when only his more permissive aunt was around. He sensed his way across the desert, following the silent call carried in the dusty wind all the way to the Jundland Wastes.

Luke was surprised when the door of the house, which he'd finally found tucked away on the edge of the Wastes, slid open to reveal a familiar face. He'd almost forgotten about that time he and Aunt Beru had been saved by a lost traveler in the desert—a soldier, his aunt had told him after, when Luke had asked how someone could learn to fight like that.

He entered cautiously, taking in the contents of the small dwelling. There were more books and artifacts in this house than Luke had ever seen in one place before—in fact, he didn't think he'd ever held a bound book in his life.

It felt...safe, here. Like this place had been waiting for him.

Luke was so distracted by the decor that he barely registered the man standing by the small dining table until he spoke. He was short, ginger-haired—older than his uncle. There was an inexplicable serene energy around him, but also a strangeness. He didn't quite _belong—_ much like Luke himself. His clear blue eyes were surveying Luke intensely, as though reading his soul like one of those books on the shelf behind him. Eventually, he smiled softly.

"Hello there, Luke. It's nice to officially meet you," Ben Kenobi said, his voice gentle but not patronizing—not like how most adults spoke to him. Now that he'd heard the man's voice, he knew that this was who'd saved him all those weeks ago.

Luke didn't know what to say. He hadn't really thought he'd make it to this point. He fidgeted slightly, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

"I expect you have some questions for me?" Luke nodded. He did have some of those—they tumbled out in a rush, confused and overlapping, no longer kept at bay by nervousness.

"Is it true you knew my dad? Where did you come from? How did you defeat all those bandits in the dark? How did you know where I was? Why didn't my aunt and uncle tell me about you? Are we related? Why did my dad say my father was crazy? Sometimes I can move things if I think about them _really_ hard." He didn't know why he added that last part, but it seemed relevant. Ben eye's sparkled with mirth. Behind Luke, he heard a quickly stifled, oddly strained laugh from the soldier.

"Well, Luke—I'm afraid it's a rather long story, but I'd be happy to tell you, if you're interested."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned for more parts! I need a break from writing long-ish things, buuut I have a few one shots planned out as follow ups that didn't really fit the narrative of these two stories. I'm really enjoying writing this series, so I hope y'all are game for more, haha.


End file.
